Archives 2002

31 December, 2002

Tragically Canadian

Saw the Tragically Hip in Hamilton last night, which marked the first time I had been part of this quintessentially Canadian concert event. Not so for the fans who packed Copps Coliseum, though - most of the mulletmen & fringe-pursed hosettes seemed to know their role in the event by heart. That involved shouting for the Hip in between every song of opening act Sarah Harmer, or starting up a "Go Leafs Go" chant during her set. Lunkheads. Perfect crowd for the no-frills bar rock practised by the boys from Kingston though — beer-fueled and boisterous, and loving every note of it.

A Hip concert, I discovered, is really just the Gord Downie Show — the best you can say about the other guys is that they don't get in Gord's way, and they hit all the right notes. Downie on the other hand, is riveting. He has a way of grabbing even the most ordinary Hip song (and there are a few of them) by the balls and shaking it until it's begging for mercy. Highlite: Nautical Disaster - an arrangement too complex to be an arena-rock anthem that somehow became a powerhouse, far better than the studio version and maybe the best song of the night. Opener Sarah Harmer was also a treat. Great voice, great tunes, solid band. What else could you want?

No end of year 10 best list, sorry. Didn't get out to many movies, and reading novels isn't my thing any more so I can't comment on the latest Giller/Booker prize-winning lit thing.

Have a smashing 2003 everyone.

19 December, 2002

Merci

A very large thank you to everyone who pitched in to help with the move. A large and enthusiastic crew made the day go real smoove. Now if only I could get some of you to come back and unpack everything...

12 December, 2002

Who are these people?

The last couple of my days have been spent taking care of the last-minute business of buying a house; address change, meetings at the bank, stuff like that. You'd think that dropping in at the bank in the middle of the day would mean short lineups, what with everyone being at work, right? Well, no. Wrong. The local TD branch was chock-a-block with local riff-raff lining up for a little facetime with a teller. Who are these people? Why aren't they at work? Seniors have an excuse for being out & about during the daytime, what with night holding such terrors for them etc etc, but most of the liner-uppers I saw yesterday weren't seniors at all. Don't these people work? Don't they at least know how to use a bank machine? Half an hour of my life wasted in line is half an hour I'll never get back, and dammit, Something Must Be Done!

It's enough to make you want to join the Stone Cutters.

On a related note, the Big Move is this sunday. A squad of helpers has been enlisted to shlep stuff 'tween here and there, but I feel like we should be providing something more than just Baileys-spiked coffee avec nuts de dough as incentive. Perhaps a live jazz band could play for everyone while we move, just like at the local Loblaws where you can mull over your choices in the produce section to the sweet sounds of Girl from Ipanema played live by a trio of starving hipsters up in the mezzanine. Or how about one of those 'street magicians' like David Blaine? He could stop people in mid-hoist and then blow their minds with some eye-popping sleight of hand. Sweet!

Spacedog g'wanna be offline to monday, y'all. Out.

28 November, 2002

Digital Wee Wee

The newest piece of DWW to be added to the spacedog site is the "daily photo" feature, and what a blatant piece of show-offery it is. Every day a new photo will appear in the sidebar over there on the right, each one lovingly crafted by your host from the finest silver halide crystals and dead tree matter, then carefully transmogrified into electromagnetic impulses for you, the Spacedog Customer, to enjoy at your leisure. Simply click the wee link for a bigger version.

I do this all for you, people.

24 November, 2002

www

So one of Chretien's lackeys got caught speaking her mind, calling George W a 'moron', eh? And now there's a minor meltdown over the incident, including some coverage on American tv. Sad, so sad. Let's look at the facts:

"You don't need to be smart to be president"
--Republican Congressman J.C. Watts - said at a February campaign appearance on Bush's behalf. Washington Post, 6/11/00

Uh huh. But what does Dubya hisself have to say?

"Actually, I -- this may sound a little West Texan to you, but I like it. When I'm talking about -- when I'm talking about myself, and when he's talking about myself, all of us are talking about me."
--Hardball, MSNBC, May 31, 2000

Wha? Um, could you clarify that for us please, Mr. Bush?

"We ought to make the pie higher."
-South Carolina Republican Debate, Feb. 15, 2000

Thanks, George. That clears everything right up.

All quotes can be found at DubyaSays

5 November, 2002

Letter to a Bum

Dear Donald Audette,

When I chose you in this year's hockey pool, there were more than a few snickers heard 'round the room. Oh sure, you'd had some injury problems in the past, and maybe you weren't the most consistent player in the NHL. But after last year's playoff run when you scored a pile of goals and played so well, I thought you would be a sure bet to continue in that vein during this year's regular season.

Instead, after a dozen games, you have amassed exactly zero points. That's right, zero. No goals, no assists. This of course is no good. What are you waiting for, exactly? The playoffs? You won't be IN the playoffs if you don't soon wake up, sir. In fact you may not even be in the NHL. Don't you know what's at stake here? How am I supposed to win this hockey pool if I have to carry overpaid underachievers like you? In fact if I don't see a huge improvement in your play very soon, you'll leave me no choice but to sack you if favour of a player who actually gives a damn. So wise up.

Your Pal, Jeff

31 October, 2002

House Update: move in is now mid-december, so this means frantic packing of boxes and judicious tossing of formerly-much-loved-but-now-useless Stuff. Also means spending Christmas in our new house, which is very good indeed.

27 October, 2002

Spacedog in tha' House

Bought a house. No big deal to some folks, maybe, but this is my (our) first foray into home ownership, so it's kind of exciting. In the current market in Toronto, buying a house means plunking down a chunk of change that at one time would have purchased a small Caribbean nation. And that's just the downpayment. Can't think about that, though. I'm too busy pondering the soon-to-be joys of owning a 50 year old brick structure designed with the Cleavers in mind.

It's kind of abstract, still, though — move-in date is sometime in 2003 so for now life continues on as before except for the frequent drive-bys of 'the house' whenever we go out in the car.

Features:

 

19 October, 2002

Minty Fresh Design

I am a packaging junkie. A sucker for a nice box, a flashy paint job or a well-designed label. On any trip through the supermarket I'm likely to choose a product based not on its utility or presence on my list, but on its physical appearance alone. As a designer myself, I like to think of this as rewarding the package designer for a job well done, but those who've seen my fetish in action are somewhat less charitable in their assessment. The word "sucker" comes up alot.

This past week I was in a new shop at Yonge and Carlton that sold imported candy bars and chocolates, plus a large assortment of mints. Mints, as you know, have undergone a high-tech transformation of late, morphing from the staid white ovoids of yesteryear into all kinds of shapes and colours wrapped in all kinds of, yes, packages. Mmmmm, packaging.

I surveyed the collection, dismissing the various look-alike tins as too samey and the more radical forms as too gimmicky, until my eye was caught by a lovely little retro number of a kind I hadn't seen anywhere else. An elongated cubic form about 6cm in length, metallic purple foil embossed with silvery lettering in an old-fashioned font. "C. Howard Co." it said. "Violet" and "Delicious Mints". Buy me, it said.

At this point, the actual product itself should be secondary, no? It's the wrapper that counts, not the wrapped. Still, it's hard not to be disappointed when something you purchase turns out to be a hideous mistake. For without a doubt, the C. Howard Company's Violet mints were anything but "delicious". How to describe their taste? Somewhere between laundry soap and unwashed feet, I should say, which is an ironic sort of combination now that I think of it. Mints are supposed to be minty, correct? Someone should tell the C. Howard Company. I tried to find them on the web, but they have wisely elected to not show their corporate face via that medium, so no email outlining my disappointment was sent.

Confectionary fans, let this be a warning to you. Under no circumstances should you buy this product. Better to play it safe with your Altoids, your Dilbert mints, even your good old dependable certs. The ones in the new box, of course.

14 October, 2002

SniperVille USA

I was just wondering about the folks being stalked by that sniper down in Washington DC, and whether they feel safer knowing that they can keep a loaded firearm in the house if they choose. Seems to me that the right to bear arms hasn't protected any of the victims so far...

I've seen a fair amount of coverage on this on US television, and nobody has talked about how having easy access to firearms might not be such a good idea any more. Not one person.

Snipers, Columbine, Afghanistan, an illiterate president controlled by the oil industry, a national obesity epidemic, Fox TV - living next to the States is like watching a slow-motion train wreck through your living room window. Fascinating, but horrifying too. You just know that sooner or later some flying chunks of burning metal are going to land on your house and burn it to the ground. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

13 October, 2002

More Bad Advice

How Not to Manage a Long Course Duathlon

First, pick a course that is so outrageously tough that it had to be shortened because the run sections were deemed too difficult by the race organizers. This was after they received feedback from people attempting to train on it in the weeks prior to the race. And I quote: "We have been receiving input on the courses from those who have tried them - and to put it bluntly, they were too tough, even for a Powerman!"

On race day, do the following:

First Run (3 x 3k up and down a ski hill - this is the shortened course, remember): Go hard, and make sure you take the downhill portions at speed, giving your knees a good pounding. This will come in handy later when you have to repeat the run.

Bike (3 x 22k in the Gatineaus, a very hilly course with not a single flat stretch anywhere): Ride as if you were in a sprint or olympic distance race. Tell yourself you're taking it easy to conserve energy, but make sure you drop everyone you ride with, especially on the hills. Tell yourself you're having a great race and predict a sub-4 hour time. This will work for the first 50k or so, until everyone you dropped re-appears and passes you as you struggle along.

Drink only one bottle of water over the entire 66k course, and eat only minimally. Remember, fuel is for the weak.

Run #2: at this point you should have completely depleted your energy reserves (see bike portion of race), so you can look forward to a leisurely jog around the remaining 3 loops of the run course. Leisurely except for the excruciating pain in your left knee, a result of your reckless downhill attack in the first run. Walk the uphill sections because you are out of gas, and then creep sideways down the downhill sections because the pain won't let you run. Trudge through the only flat section on the course, about a 1k stretch. Repeat 3 times.

Finish in 4.5 hours, an hour behind the leaders. Accept the conclusion that you had no business even entering the race. Make plans for offseason training and preparations for a 1/2 ironman next year.

30 September, 2002

Some Good Advice

Is there a worse feeling than being totally, irreversibly out of control drunk?

Yes. Yes there is, as it turns out. It's the feeling you have the next day when you wake up on the couch and see your clothes balled up on the living room floor where you left them after walking home, a 45 minute trip that you would normally drive in 5 minutes but couldn't because even looking at your car or yor car keys in the state you were in the night before is grounds for immediate arrest and incarceration.

I don't drink, usually, which is good policy when you have no body fat - nowhere to put it, so it all goes straight to the brain. But sometimes... you know, you're out with some friends and one of them wins big at the Off Track Betting Emporium and the next thing you know it's 3 in the morning and you're playing Foosball in some dive bar with people you just met who are taking it VERY seriously and kinda making you nervous.

So you wake up after about 3 hours of sleep. Still drunk, but with undertones of a lurid hangover lurking nearby. A truly existential, zen-like state of being is now upon you, one where you are keenly aware of each passing second and the pain it contains. There's a radio playing too loudly somewhere in the house and you desperately want it to stop, but there's nothing you can do about it because you - can't - move. At all. Until 1:30 in the afternoon and the day is all but gone. Stupid. Sports fans, take it from me: go easy on the beers.

15 September, 2002

A Lake, A Loon, a Stubby of Beer, and Thou

No long boring tales of the joys of cottage country, but I will leave you with this at least...

The Missus & me are standing on the dock, the selfsame dock featured in a semi-famous Labatt's Blue ad this past summer - you know the one where three hosers lose a precious bouteille de biere through the bottom of their case and into the icy depths of the lake? That one. So there we are, stubbies in hand. It's after dinner, the sun has set and the sky is filled edge to edge with stars. The milky way arcs high above us, and the northern lights are putting on a rare southern Ontario show across the northern half of the sky. On the next dock a silent fisher casts his lure into the black water, the whzzzzzz-ploip-sniksniksnik... repeating in a familiar unhurried rythym. Out on the darkened lake a pair of loons call to each other, and not far (enough) away happy cottagers are blasting 30 year-old Rolling Stones tunes into the night.

I swear, it's all true. If I had to make up a more quintessential Cottage Country Canada tableau I don't think I could do it, and this was on Day One of the vacation. The rest of the week was pretty much more of the same.

5 September, 2002

9-11 24/7

ground zero photoNext week is the anniversary of 9-11. I'll be observing radio silence in cottage country, and so will be spared the media spectacle that is sure to be unleashed on anyone within range of a tv, radio, newspaper or web browser.

This is good.

27 August, 2002

Bad Advice, Part Deux

How not to prepare for a 10k road race:

1. Stay up the night before until 3am drinking beer and poking a campfire with a stick. Don't drink any water.

2. Sleep in a windowless room that is way too hot. Make sure you sweat alot. Don't drink any water.

3. Get up too early. The sound of children stomping around a cottage is a good way to ensure this happens. No more than 5 hours of sleep, max.

4. Hang around on a dock all day getting sun. Don't do any stretching. Start drinking some water now, but don't have a big breakfast because you don't want to 'overfuel'. Leave your gels at home so you have to eat peanut butter sandwiches instead.

In the race, make sure you finish one place behind the women's overall winner, a 12 year old girl wearing a bathing suit. As the crowd at the finish line cheers wildly for the little waif, you lurch forward knowing that no matter how well you ran, nobody gives a toss for your pain, your effort, or your life in general. Curse the universe and stumble to the finish line and then down to the water's edge where you plunge your aching bones into the coolness of the lake, vowing never to run again.

Make plans for next week's triathlon.

19 August, 2002

Sting a Ding Ding

A trivial thing to be sure, but received my very first bee sting yesterday. Incredible that one could live one's entire span of 40+ years without once knowing the Touch of The Bee, but there you have it. The scenario: riding the Marinoni, as is my wont on sundays, when was struck by a flying something which then swooshed down into my open shirt. A nanosecond later and the the wee devil had his dirty little dagger thrust into my hitherto unsullied bosom. I felt like an actor in some cheap WWII flick - "I've been hit! Medic!!" A swift uplift of the shirt to rid my person of the offending insect and a brief stop to inspect the damage, followed by 5 minutes of sharp pain and indignation, and I was under way again with no ill effects.

I've heard that if you're allergic, it's the 2nd sting that kills you...

13 August, 2002

Bad Advice

How not to prepare for a triathlon:

1. The night before, eat a plate full of really really really hot spicy flaming ridiculously hot Thai noodles. Noodles so hot, the sweat pours down your face just looking at them. Noodles so hot, people across the room are fanning themselves. Noodles so hot your ass is calling its travel agent in a desperate attempt to get out of town by morning.

2. Roam the streets with your belly full of hellfire until you find the one bar not guarded by scary biker types, and then drink beer listlessly in an effort to forestall number 3. Stay up too late, even though you know you have to get up at 5:45 am the next day.

3. Spend the night in an airless, charmless bunker of a college residence where teenagers are permitted to drunkenly hoot and holler outside your window in the middle of the night. Wake up sporadically throughout the night, grope for your bottle of warm, stale water and pray that it will be enough to counteract the effects of number 1 come the morn.

On race day, surprise yourself with a fast swim, then get a flat on your way out of the transition zone with your bike. Curse the universe, fix the flat, ride like a motherf**er, finish 8th out of 10 on the day.

Make plans for next weekend's race.

8 August, 2002

Domo Arragato...

The Globe unt Mail reported today that researchers are working on a variety of new robots designed to perform specific tasks, like the robot fly, the conventioneer robot (yes) and a robot 'little guy' who could assist disabled persons with day-to-day living. May I humbly suggest some additional ideas for new robotic contraptions:

::1 August, 2002

Cologne for men: it's all shite. There's nothing that makes me gag more than having to share space with some guy who thinks his cologne is so special that it must be applied using a firehose. Gentlemen, it all smells like crap and it makes the wearer seem like a self-obsessed ponce. Unless you've invented a working time machine and you're planning a trip back to the 80's for a night out at the clubs in San Francisco, don't wear it.

::29 July, 2002

The Tour is over. Thus ends 3 weeks of cycling madness, 3 weeks of being glued to the tv for 2 hours every night, and 3 weeks of Bike Envy. Of course the man from Texas "ran away" with it again, as we all knew he would. But that's ok - he's got more class than the entire NBA, NFL and MLB leagues put together.

There's something about a sport like cycling that, in spite of it's recent troubles with doping, makes our North American pro sports leagues look like the circuses they really are. Pure athletic endurance, bravery and the sheer elegance of the sport of cycling are what set it apart for me. If professional baseball or basketball players had to endure as much suffering as Tour riders grinding out a mountain stage, both leagues would fold within 24 hours. Let's see hockey or football players go the entire game without a rest or break in play and with nothing but their pain to keep them company. Not likely!

::24 July, 2002

Last night I had the unique experience of attending a market research session designed to assess the subtle tastes of the "Classic Rock" music fan. Being Scarborough borned and raised, I consider myself to be abundantly qualified to pass judgement on this type of music, even though it now comprises but a small percentage of my Overall Tuneage.

The session, as it turned out, consisted of being pummelled, nay brutally assaulted, by 600 consecutive 'hooks' or 5 second clips from what seemed like every song ever to grace the Q107 playlist. Each had to be graded either as a) unfamiliar b) hate it c) tired of it d) it's OK e) like it or e) love it, dude. No breaks, no resting, no mercy. Just a relentless onslaught of dinosaur rock, enough to test the mettle of even the most die-hard of the Mulleted Class, about 150 of whom were assembled last night, with visions of an easy $45 dancing in their heads.

What were we subjected to? Here's a nearly complete list of what was offered, in no particular order: Led Zepplin Neil Young The Police Cream Jimi Hendrix Nazareth Tom Petty Elton John Genesis Yes Mountain David Bowie CSNY CCR ELO ELP U2 Journey Van Halen Aerosmith Nirvana Stone Temple Pilots Peter Gabriel The Clash Billy Idol Stevie Ray Vaughan Eric Clapton The Stones The Beatles The Who Pete Townsend The Kinks Pink Floyd Bob Seger Rod Stewart Queen The Ramones The Tragically Hip Bon Jovi The Band Jethro Tull Ozzy Osborne The Eagles Black Sabbath Wings April Wine Max Webster The Allman Brothers Soundgarden and you get the picture.

Listening to 600 songlets in a row like that sure helps to focus the mind, and to draw some conclusions about this type of music:

Bands / artists that still wear it well: The Allman Brothers, early Stones, Neil Young, Stevie Ray

Bands / artists that sound tired and or dated: The Eagles, Nazareth, The Who, Van Halen (awful), ELP, U2 (yep).

Now please excuse me while I put on some Smiths.

::19 July, 2002

The Pope is coming to Toronto. He's been tarted up and touted like a visiting Pop(e) Star for World Youth Day 2002, with media coverage up the Papal Wazoo. I heard on the radio yesterday some clips of breathless young catholics carrying on about how excited they were to see His Popish-ness: "At first, I was like, 'whatever', but then later I was like, 'Ohmygawd, this is awesome' " effused one young wordsmith. It's like he's become the eldest Backstreet Boy, which you have to admit is kind of tawdry PR for a guy who's now, what, 90?

And speaking of elders, the Stones are apparently in town again, rehearsing for yet another tour of North America. They like it here, for some reason. Yesterday a roadie for the band dropped dead at rehearsal. He was 55. A roadie! 55! Dude, get a life. Oops, sorry. And yet Keith Richards is allowed to live on...

::15 July, 2002

First top ten finish at a triathlon over the weekend - Collingwood Sprint - 6th place among the crusty old codgers in the 40-44 category. I figure I'll win my first race the day before my 60th birthday at this rate.

Don't forget the Tour de France is on now, or as a certain anti-Gallic friend of mine insists on calling it, the Toor of Frantz.

::9 July, 2002

In honour of seeing my first rat of the garbage strike, may I humbly present the following haiku:

brown rat scurrying
across the concrete plaza
he looks well fed now

Thank you. Thank you very much.

::5 July, 2002

The garbage in Hogtown continues to mount. Rather than take my usual route to work via a series of connected parkettes and parking lots just off the Danforth, I've been opting to ride the long route through the Don Valley. The parkettes are being used as illegal dumps by people too lazy to bring their trash to the emergency dumpsites around the city, and so each contains a single overflowing trash bin surrounded by an ever-growing circle of filth as people add to the pile. The reek is sickening, and the visuals are of course somewhat less than stunning. The Valley, on the other hand, is cool and shady in the morning, and I see birds instead of flies, smell grass and growing things rather than garbage. Sometimes the long way is the best way.

::30 June, 2002

Ok, sports fans. The Rideau pics are finally in. Behold >>.

Also, happy Canada Day. No finer place to live, is there? Ah! Please, no whining, just for today. Thank you.

::21 June, 2002

The summer solstice has arrived, which can only mean one thing: a 4:45 tee off gets you a full round of golf at twilight rates! Woo-hoo!

Also, the Rideau pics have arrived. Some award-winning photos in the bunch, which I will post here as soon as I get the time to scan 'em and come up with some witty comments for each.

::18 June, 2002

There is a definite lull in the tv sports season right now. Hockey is (mercifully) over, basketball is done, football hasn't really started up yet, not even the CFL, and the Tour de France is several weeks away. That leaves baseball (*yawn*) and the World Cup of Football/Soccer. Again, *yawn*. I'd rather watch the English Darts League, frankly. Watching a soccer game is like watching one of those chess matches where the pieces are played by real people. In spite of this, incredibly, people in this city get pretty worked up over the WC - much hooting of car horns

::11 June, 2002

The Rideau Lakes Cycle Tour is over. 177 kilometres times two equals the sorest bum a straight man can get. Highlites of this year's tour, a spacedog first, include:

Watch for snapshots to appear here in the near future.

::3 June, 2002

Bike Week begins. The pancakes in Nathan Phillips Square (a horrible place) were deelishus, and it was nice to see so many 2 wheelers out for the kickoff. Downtown riding is sometimes hairy in Tronna, but it's a picnic compared to riding in the 'burbs. My scariest bike moments have all happened outside the downtown area, where at least there are enough bikes to remind motorists to beware. Plus traffic moves at a crawl much of the time so getting creamed by a fast-moving transport truck is a low-probability event. Not so in Scarborough, where they've apparently never seen bicycles before. I used to commute from my mid-Scarberia home to the industrial wastelands of Markham once upon a time, and was nearly flattened by inept motorists more times than I can count. Addled soccer moms in becurtained minivans, strung out truck drivers used to giving no quarter to anyone let alone a bike, and just plain bad drivers are the unfortunate norm Out There. Props to Dave, Maurice and Paul, three amigos who bike daily to their suburban office. Brave lads, though perhaps a bit daft as well? See you at Rideau, boys.

Related Reading
Bike Week website
Cycling Map of Toronto
Toronto Bike Network

::1 June, 2002

A big shout-out to Stuart & Catherine, who tied the knot today in Guelph. A sylvan setting, a beautiful day, a bagpiper. What more could you want in a wedding?

::27 May, 2002

The new City Plan for Toronto was released today, and although I couldn't find a copy of it on the city's website it supposedly calls for greater density in the downtown area, especially along transit lines. What I hope it also calls for is a plan to make this city more friendly to bikes, and indeed more friendly to anyone NOT in a big, ugly, dangerous, polluting car. I cycle to work every day, as do quite a few of my friends, and believe me it's not a pleasant trip. Riding the Danforth is like riding through an asphalt-lined ditch - garbage and filth line the curb from one end to the other, the pavement is eaten away in spots from corrosive bodily fluids leaking from parked cars, and rush-hour drivers seem to feel that 6 inches of space is enough for you to squeeze by at the lights. A real treat, but still better than the subway...

::25 May, 2002

Doors Open Toronto is on all this weekend, the third year for this most excellent celebration of all that is good in Toronto architecture and heritage. In a city chock-a-block with architectural wretchedness it's sometimes surprising to learn that we also have quite a few treasures tucked away around town.

If you live here, you should really get out and visit some of these fine buildings because this is the only weekend of the year when they're open to the public. If you don't live here, check to see if there isn't a Doors Open event in your city.

::18 May, 2002

I'm Number 2!

 

::1 May, 2002

The Leafs Win! The Leafs Win!

Ok, so it's not the Stanley Cup. Still, folks 'round here get pretty exercised over these series victories. You would too if you hadn't seen a meaningful (ie. Stanely Cup Final) victory since the middle of the last century. Too bad nobody in the East, including the Leafs, has the jam to beat whomever comes out of the west, be it Colorado or Detroit. Sorry.

Predictions, anyone? I'll post 'em here, anonymously if that's your wish.

Send your prognostications to hockey@spacedogdesign.com

::30 April, 2002

Hockey fever has us in its thrall once again, and of course nowhere more than here in the Big Smoke, the Real Hockeytown (not Detroit - please!), Tronna tha Good. The Leafs - Islanders series has degenerated into a circus of mayhem, with both sides engaging in outright thuggery, and in the case of one club's fans, extreme bad taste.

Shane Corson and Darcy Tucker's embarassing antics have brought shame to us all here in our fair city, but just in case you think that only oft-concussed goons are prone to losing their minds on the ice (not much of a loss, admittedly) let me direct your attention to a piece written some time ago by your Humble Host. If it can happen to a mild mannered non-violent vegetarian who weighs in at about a buck-fifty in full equipment, it can happen to anyone.

The Gist, as an excerpt: "How the game of ice hockey is able to transform normally reasonable, non-violent individuals into lumber-wielding psycho-jocks is beyond me, but anyone who plays the game will tell you that all too often this is exactly what happens."

Read The Gentle Art of Ice Hockey

::22 April, 2002

So, McDonald's is testing its McVeggie Burger in Vancouver, are they? Yeah, that should make up for all the greasy, tasteless, fat-laden, empty calorie-bloated "meals" they've foisted on fast food consumers in the past 40 years. Yep, this new-found social responsibility also makes amends for years of sleazy marketing tactics, aimed at hooking little kids and their hapless parents, who are either too harried or weak or stupid (or young, in the case of the toddlers themselves) to resist the siren call of the Happy Meal.

Is this story at all related to the sad fact, noted in yesterday's Globe & Mail, that 61% of Canadian adults are overweight? You tell me.

Related reading:
mcspotlight.org
McDonald's own "social responsibility report"

::21 April, 2002

As promised, some lovely photos of the golf trip. Of limited interest to those who don't know me or the other golfers, but so what? It's my website, dammit.

::19 April, 2002

The NHL playoffs have finally begun, which means 6 weeks of slackjawed staring at barroom tv screens, checking stats to see how I'm doing in the Big Hockey Pool, and generally getting all stressed out over nothing. Will the Leafs win the Stanley Cup? No. Will Leaf fans once again have their hopes crushed to pieces like stemware at a Jewish wedding? But of course.

Will American sports fans ever give a damn about hockey? Nuh uh. Should Canadian sports fans care what American sports fans think about anything? Again, I say: Nuh uh. US fans seem to require one of two things in a sport. Either a) it be slow enough to follow even whilst in a Bud Lite-induced stupor, a la baseball or football, or b) there be enough scoring to prevent even those with the shortest of attention spans from changing the channel, a la basketball.

::13 April, 2002

In case there was any doubt that the U.S. means business when it comes to security...first it was 128-bit encryption, now it's this.

::2 April, 2002

Now that my head has cleared somewhat, let me expound upon my recent experience in Hilton Head S.C., USA. Submitted for your approval - an island, caught between the present and the past, adrift in time, severed from the 'real' world. An island of security patrolled, gated 'plantations', manicured grounds and large shiny automobiles. An island freshly scrubbed, mown, swept and flossed. In short, an island of the damned.

I recently visited New York, and HH is everything NYC is not - monoculture vs multiculture, bland vs exotic, safe vs dangerous. All the themes and memes of American culture and history are present in both locales; the segregation, the economic polarization, the commercial overkill. The difference is that in the Big Apple it's all up front, whereas in HH it's all kept safely out of sight. I know which I prefer. I also know that I prefer my own country, flawed as it is. Sorry, America.

::31 March, 2002

Back from a week of golfing and 'relaxing' in Hilton Head. Let the detox begin.

::11 April, 2002

Could there be a better job in the world than Professional Dog Walker? I met up with a pair of PDWs this afternoon whilst out n about on my (pathetic, un-tuned, hard-tailed, no-shock) mountainbike. High on the slopes of the mighty Don Valley, above the roar and rush of the DVP and the gurgle and reek of the Don River itself, came two comely lasses surrounded by no less than 20 dogs. All sizes, breeds, colours, and all extremely happy to be young and canine.

I could have moved, but I let the pack envelope me so I could reach down and pet a few shaggy heads, tweak a few shaggy ears. Oh bliss oh joy.

A few more days like these and I'm going to have trouble going back to work, I tells ya.

::9 April, 2002

Does anyone else find this guy hysterical?

::4 April, 2002

The Pics page now has pics! Go ahead, see for yourself. Be patient with the page if you have a dialup - the photos take a sizeable chunk o' bandwidth so it can take some time for the page to load. You high speed types will have no trouble at all.

::21 March, 2002

Last transmission before heading off to South Carolina for a week of golf. Apparently the accomodations (a condo) are in a Gated Community, something we don't have many of way up here in Canada. Not yet at least. In order to blend in with the local population, we've rented a Cadillac, and I suppose we'll have to cultivate a healthy suspicion of strangers and 'ethnics' while we're there, too.

Watch for pictures of alligators upon my return, I've heard they're as common as squirrels down there. Butcha can't feed 'em, no sir.

:: 12 March, 2002

First day of the Big Strike. Washed the car, went for a run in the warm sun, re-stocked the beer fridge. Did not wave placard or join an angry mob, did not sing pathetic strike songs. All in all, a successful day.

:: 8 March, 2002

The start of yet another redesign of the spacedog website and home shopping emporium de haute mode. The last version, while it succeeded as an attempt to pare the design down to it's bare essentials, was, er, a little dry. So onward we go with the current incarnation, one that gives just the slightest nod towards visual appeal. The kids will love it, I'm sure.

spacedog


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